


love is like a heat wave

by jugheadjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M, summer lovin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-04 07:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18338882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/pseuds/jugheadjones
Summary: i wrote this ages ago and never posted it...Summer of 1991 Riverdale's hit by a massive heat wave. Fred and FP find ways to pass the time.





	1. Chapter 1

No one locks their doors in Riverdale, and on summer days as meltingly hot as this one the households that aren’t lucky enough to have air conditioning leave them entirely ajar. It’s this way that FP walks directly up the Andrews driveway and into the house, stepping into a scene of complete chaos.

“Out, out!” Mrs. Andrews is yelling, swatting at Fred and Oscar with a long, plumed feather duster as they tear around the living room over her couches, Fred being chased by his older brother. The furniture bangs against the floor as they leap from sofa to carpet, the pictures on the walls rattling. The whirring buzz of several electric fans - there’s one on every surface - adds to the din. “It’s too hot for this! Get out before I sell you both to the monkey house!”

“Fred farted in his hand and then hit me!” Oscar yells. Bunny turns to FP, relief evident on her face.

“Fred, there’s FP.” She accentuates her words by shoving her youngest on the rear with the feather duster, sending him in FP’s direction. “Go out and play with him for a while.”

“Good luck,” mutters Oscar darkly as he shoulders past FP and out the door, head held nobly high, suddenly twenty-one again. Fred leaps on FP and offers his index finger.

“FP, pull my finger.”

“Outside!” Mrs. Andrews begs. Streaks on the surface of the coffee table are evaporating under a blue pail of various cleaning supplies, and FP realizes he’s walked in on her cleaning day. “Be home and check in by midnight, please.”

“Can we help with anything?” FP offers politely, more than willing to spend a couple of hours dusting photo frames or washing windows. Bunny shakes her head and rifles through her pocketbook, extending a five dollar bill in FP’s direction.

“You can help me by entertaining this one.” She cocks her head to the open door. “It’s a beautiful day out there, you’ll find something to do.”

“I can’t-” says FP, blushing at the money. Fred saves him by snatching the five out of his mother’s hand.

“Thanks, mom!” His best friend shoves his feet into a pair of beat-up sneakers without bothering with the laces, wiggling his ankles into the shoes. “See you tonight!”

The sun hits them in full force as they step out onto the porch, bright and full and blinding. FP lets out a long breath, the air a hot steam. He can feel the heat radiating from the deck up onto his bare shins, the worn-thin bottoms of his sneakers threatening to melt right onto the wood. The summer air hangs around his face like a veil, muggy and heavy and hot.

“Whoo,” Fred exhales beside him, stretching his neck back and gazing at the cloudless sky above the roof of the house. It’s so hot today that the heavens are a pale powder blue, as though the very fabric of the sky has faded out. “It’s hot.”

“Hot,” FP echoes - the sweat beading on the skin of his face makes original thought impossible. He runs a hand through his sticky hair and finds it almost as damp as if they’d been swimming. “Let’s go. At least we’ll generate some breeze from walking.”

They wander along the quiet roads, breathing in the sights and smells of their hometown in the summer. Curtains flutter in open windows, and every so often the sound of someone’s radio pours out into the street, sprinklers chirring rhythmically in front gardens. Neighbourhood kids slump lazily under trees and on curbs, scraped knees bare, licking popsicles that are little more than jelly.

Main Street is almost silent, hanging under a haze of heat that’s as potent as sleep. “I can feel that A/C already,” Fred sighs happily when Pop’s comes into view, the neon sign still burning hazily in vibrant purple. “Whadda want, FP? I’m getting a float. No, a sundae.”

“I’ll have what you’re having,” FP pants, leaning down and planting his hands against his thighs. He’d always considered himself in impressive physical shape - he was the captain of the football team, for crying out loud - but he was barely keeping pace with Fred in this heat. Had he gone soft in the summer? Or could any human being be expected to walk around these blistering streets without tiring?

“A/C’s broken,” Pop greets them when the door opens with a jingle. He’s behind the deserted counter, sweating through polishing the milkshake glasses. In the place of the blast of cool air FP had expected, he and Fred are met with a stale, sticky warmth. FP’s shoulders slump.

Fred makes a beeline for the huge electric fan sitting next to the cash register, and FP follows him so that they can stand fully in front of it, the cool breeze blowing some life back into the skin of his face.

“Where is everyone?” Fred asks. The Chok’lit shop is completely empty.

Pop sets his rag down. “Rick Mantle came by, picked them up in his car. Something about a private pool.”

“Aw, Rick Mantle’s got more money than brains.” Fred says, sinking onto a vinyl stool. He winces as the burning vinyl adheres itself to the bare bottoms of his thighs. “If we buy some sodas, can we drink them in the walk-in?”

“No.” Pop answers instinctively, then relents. “All right, you can stand in the freezer with the door open. But only because I’m coming with you.”

* * *

“You should close up, Pop.” Fred says as the three of them stand between cases of ice cream, sucking on his cream soda float through a red-and-white-striped straw. FP, having polished off a coke, is letting an ice cube melt in his hand. “Forget about us. Go to the pool or something.”

“Nah,” says Pop agreeably, closing his eyes and leaning back against the metallic side of the walk-in freezer. “I don’t like the pool.”

Fred sucks on his straw, drawing the last of his drink up with an annoying slurp. “How come?”

Pop smiles and winks at them so they know he’s joking. “Too many kids.”

He shoos them out of the back room once they’re done, and FP obediently follows Fred back out into the hot sun, wincing as it immediately sucks any trace of cool from the surface of his skin.

“Well, that’s that,” says Fred, letting the bell jingle behind them as the door closes. He kicks the toe of his shoe into the hot sand at the base of the steps, the back of his neck already a light pink. “Let’s head to the park.”  

They’re halfway down the path when FP’s fatigue takes over. “Let’s just sit down for a sec,” he offers, eyeing a large elm tree a few feet away on the bleached grass. A puddle of shade is spread out beneath its branches, looking as wide and inviting as any swimming pool.

Fred groans aloud. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

They flop down side by side on the cooler grass, shucking off shoes and socks, and despite the heat cloying every one of his pores FP secretly enjoys the stillness of the park. They’re the only ones for miles around, the birds and the occasional blessed rustle of leaves overhead the only noise besides their breathing. Once their initial exhaustion has dissipated somewhat, Fred wiggles his way over enough that he can rest his head on FP’s chest and close his eyes. FP finds his gaze drawn to Fred’s face - his long eyelashes, the few freckles on his cheeks, his wide forehead and delicate lips. Lifeguarding all summer has left him with a glowing, even tan.

“What should we do?” Fred asks lazily, brown eyes flickering open. FP tilts his head up to look out across the park so that Fred won’t catch him staring.

“Dunno,” FP answers. “What do you want to do?”

“We could go see what Gladys is up to,” Fred offers. His head is hot and sweaty on FP’s chest, but FP doesn’t want to move it. The thought of walking to the Southside makes him cringe.

“Nah, it’s too hot.”

“We could work on the van.”

“Still too hot.”

“How ‘bout the pool?”

“How 'bout the swimming hole?” FP counters. The private swimming hole, tucked away on the banks of Sweetwater River, had been their secret since they were kids. He and Fred had spent countless summer hours splashing in the water and diving from the lower branches of the trees on the bank. “Or, you said you wanted to go fishing.”

“You wanna go dig up worms in this heat?”

“Maybe your dad has some bait.”

“Nah, we’d have to get the boat out.” Fred shuts his eyes again, smiling lazily up at the sky. “Too much work.”

“Maybe Mary’s doing something.” FP offers, wiggling his bare toes. He has an awful sock tan. 

“She’s working. The beach?”

“No way.” FP argues. “It’s crowded and the sand is gonna be a trillion degrees.”

“Come on, the water’s cold.”

“No.” FP replies tiredly.

“Fine." They're talking slow, their fingers idly combing through the dry grass. "We’ll crash Rick Mantle’s pool party.”

“Too much work.”

“Yeah.” Fred yawns. “What’s on at the Bijou?”

FP counts them off on his fingers. “Terminator 2, Robin Hood, Point Break, and Thelma and Louise.”

“I’ve seen ‘em all. You?”

“Yeah. But I’d go just for the A/C.”

“Me too,” Fred agrees, but neither of them makes any move to get up. FP can almost feel himself melting into the ground below him, the tingle of the sun on his cheeks intoxicatingly strong. He fills his lungs with air and thinks if he doesn’t move, the heat is almost bearable. It wraps around him like a sauna.

“Mmm.” Fred lets out a low hum of pleasure, face tilted toward the sky. A smile plays on FP’s lips, and they fall into an amicable silence. A warm breeze blows hot air over his cheeks.

“Fuck, it’s hot,” complains FP, just in case Fred thinks he’s enjoying himself.

“Do you have any weed?”

“It’s too hot for weed.”

“Wanna go fool around?”

FP grins despite himself. “It’s too hot for that too.”

“I’ve still got two dollars, we can buy some sodas on Main Street.”

“Okay,” FP concedes, but again, Fred makes no move to rise. He’s staring up above them.

“We could climb this tree.”

“No.”

“If we had cards we could play Gin Rummy.”

“We don’t.”

“Guess we just lie here, then.”

“Guess so.”

Fred idly brushes FP’s knee with his thumb, and FP closes his eyes, breathing in the smell of the grass and the air. The sun has its own smell.

They’re still lying like that, Fred on FP’s chest, bones sagging into the grass, when Mary rolls by.

She stops her bike at the edge of the path, one sneakered foot coming down to hit the pavement. Her sock has pink and red stripes on it.

“Look at you two lazy lumps,” she says, and Fred opens one eye.

“What about it?” His voice is slow and content. FP reaches up on a whim and gently scratches Fred’s scalp under his hair, and the sigh Fred lets out is almost a purr.

“You’re already burning,” Mary informs them. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“Nothing,” says Fred, and Mary kicks her bike pedal back into place.

“Well, it’s almost dinnertime.” She gracefully pushes off from the ground, effortlessly rolling forward on her bike. Sure enough, the shadows have changed slightly, the sun further from the centre of the sky and the air dampening ever so little. “I don’t know how you can sit there all day and do nothing.”

Fred waits until she’s gone before lifting his head from FP’s chest to sit up, leaving a damp halo of his sweat. He turns over and offers FP a hand to pull him up, grinning so that his eyes crinkle up at the corners.

“I tell you, buddy, I think you’re my favourite person in the world to do nothing with.”

“Back at you,” FP says, taking his hand. Fred’s skin is damp and sticky.

They slip back into their sweaty socks, and then their shoes, lacing the sweltering fabric onto their feet with disdain. The walk back to Fred’s neighbourhood seems to take even longer, though the absence of the midday sun means the air has cooled off somewhat. Fred’s parents are sitting on the porch when they reach the house, both in summer clothes with glasses of lemonade. They look so happy sitting next to one another, deep in conversation, that FP is almost sorry to interrupt them.

Fred bounds up the sidewalk to the porch without any such hesitation. “Mom, FP’s here for dinner,” he announces. Bunny sighs and fans herself with her hand.

“Sweetie, it’s way too hot to turn the oven on.”

“You don’t have to make us anything. We’ll find something.” Fred’s hand fits into FP’s and gives it a tug. “And we’re going to sleep in the basement tonight, ‘cause my room’s too hot.”

Bunny looks reluctant. FP’s heart is thrilling at the fact that he’s just been casually invited to spend the night. As hot as it was on the Northside, his dad’s trailer trapped heat like a tin can. “Well, if you don’t mind foraging for yourselves, I think there are some leftovers in the fridge.”

“Hot dog," says Fred irreverently, pulling FP by the hand. "Let's go, FP." 

Oscar’s sitting at the kitchen counter when they burst into the kitchen, working his way through a sandwich. “Get out of there,” he cautions Fred when Fred swings the door of the fridge open. “I’m going to use that last roast beef.”

Fred opens the meat drawer and dangles the wrapped cold cuts in front of his brother. “This roast beef?”

Oscar’s up from the table in a flash. “Give it-”

Fred laughs and puts it back in the fridge. “It’s too hot to fight.” He scrutinizes the lower shelves before turning to FP. “How hungry are you?”

“Not.” FP steps cautiously into the blast of cool air coming out from the fridge, wondering what how it would feel if this was his own fridge, their own home, if he could put his arms around Fred and his chin on his shoulder, the two of them pressed close together away from prying eyes. He shakes the thoughts off and shifts his gaze to the floor. “It’s too hot.”

Fred closes the fridge and pulls open the freezer, rescuing a carton of ice cream and retrieving two spoons. “So long, Oz.” He starts heading toward the basement stairs, the carton tucked under his arm. “Don’t come down, we’re farting up a storm.”

“I’m definitely adopted,” Oscar replies, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Don’t touch my stuff.”

A single fan stands upright in the corner of the basement and FP lunges to turn it on as Fred attacks the cabinet where the Andrewses keep their VHS tapes. Being underground lends them some relief, but not much.

“Check this out,” Fred brags, waving a video in FP’s face. “Busty Cannibal Babysitters. It’s Oscar’s." 

FP pulls a face. “Just let me at that ice cream.”

“Thought you weren’t hungry.”

FP cracks the lid on the carton. “Ice cream is different.”

They settle back on the lumpy couch, sitting far apart to escape one another’s body heat, the damp carton of ice cream melting slowly in between them as they take turns plunging their spoons in. When they’re twenty minutes into the movie, Fred turns it off.

“It’s kinda stuffy down here,” he says as an explanation, tilting his wrist to check his watch. “It’s still early. You wanna just go walk around outside?”

“And do what?”

Fred shrugs. “Nothing.”

“Okay,” says FP, leaning in to plant a kiss on Fred’s mouth. He tastes like vanilla ice cream. “I’ll do nothing with you any day.”  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please know before you proceed that this is nasty pool smut thank you

The humidity hits him the moment FP steps out of Pop’s, a solid, damp wall of hot air that breaks perspiration out instantly on his forehead and neck. He exhales, feeling like he’s slogging through water, and the breath that comes out of his stomach is little more than hot steam. For a moment he almost plunges back through the doors and into air conditioned safety, but his destination spurs him onward. 

Fred was getting off his shift at the town pool in twenty minutes. 

The heat wave that had tortured Riverdale all week was finally breaking - the damp heaviness of the air and the static electricity that crackled from every surface all signaled an approaching rainstorm. The sky was no longer an unblemished blue, but an ominous overcast: clouds gathering in wait above the hot steam that rose from the town. FP wishes it would just hurry up and rain already. 

He trudges down main street on sandals that feel like they’re melting to the road, the hair lifting slightly off the back of his neck from the static. He stops every so often to take a breath, but the air is so thick you could scoop it like ice cream. He’d left Pop’s on an empty stomach - the heat had sapped his appetite for everything except Fred. 

_ That _ appetite never faded - in fact, the heat wave had made it worse. Fred had deemed it too hot to fool around, and for the most part FP had agreed - but something about the heat had heightened their sensual awareness of each other, turning the past few days into one long, bare-skinned, sweat-soaked waiting game, while the weather - and themselves - approached the breaking point. 

They were only human. There was only so much time they could spend crammed close to one another: legs overlapping in the hammock, shoving for position in front of the goosebump-cool breeze of an electric fan, licking melted ice cream off their feverish skin - before something had to give. The beating sun and the porous humidity beat out all but the most carnal of desires, and Fred shed clothes in the heat like a cat shedding hair, so that he was always a ball cap and a pair of denim cutoffs away from nude. 

Fred’s job lifeguarding at the town pool was the only thing that had kept them chaste for this long - the tiny pool was overrun with people trying to escape the climbing temperature, and Fred needed college money badly enough to sit sweltering on his lifeguard chair through every day of the heat wave. Today, though, was Saturday. Fred was off tomorrow. So maybe FP had taken an extra-long shower this morning. Call it a gut feeling. 

Thunder rumbles somewhere beyond the cloud cover as he walks, and he wonders if Fred had ever got the top of his convertible fixed, or if it was still stuck down. Fred’s cheap upholstery was hardly in danger - they’d been rained on before - but Pop had predicted that this storm was going to be a doozy, and coming on fast. He can smell it coming, the reek of air and electricity.   
  


It starts to rain when he’s halfway there, fat droplets hitting the skin of his neck and trickling down his back. The air is still hot enough that the water turns warm on contact, but FP enjoys it anyway. When he reaches the gates of the pool it’s emptying fast - parents herding their children out into minivans, drenched towels held aloft over their heads. Fred’s climbing down from his lifeguard tower, his obscenely short swimsuit a blot of red against the white sky. 

“Freddie,” FP greets him, the cement damp beneath his toes as he strolls the edge of the pool. A breeze has picked up, the trees beyond the border of the fence rustling together, though the air stays as feverishly warm as before. The puddles he’s walking through are hot as soup. 

Fred grins at him, looking painfully irresistible in his golden tan and tiny swim trunks, a red whistle dangling around his neck. “We’re closing up,” he reports, brushing at a raindrop that hits his cheekbone. “Lemme get showered.” 

FP follows him to the staff change rooms as Sierra, the other lifeguard, steps out of the office with a megaphone, announcing to the remaining guests that the pool would be closing because of the storm. Fred cranks the shower on and stands in the tile alcove in his swim trunks, motioning for FP to join him. 

“Come on, water’s cold.” Fred presses a handful of times on the pink soap dispenser, rubbing his arms and chest and unabashedly reaching down into his swimsuit to scrub himself clean. The soap covers his gold skin in a layer of lather, he rubs it over and under the soaked red fabric and steps back into the spray to rinse himself off. FP strips off his shirt and shoes and joins him. 

The bruising spray separates their faces. Fred grins at him, his wet hair hanging limp around his cheeks. He’s playing with him, keeping his distance, even though it would be all too easy for their hands to be on one another. 

“Let’s go back to your house,” says FP, a familiar throb building in his stomach, a  _ want.  _ Fred pouts playfully, keeping those painful few inches of space in between them. 

“But my house doesn’t have a pool.” 

“No one’s house has a pool, except the Blossoms.” FP steps forward so the spray is hitting him full blast, and Fred’s right - the cold water is a blessed relief from the hot air. They’re so close now that their chests are almost touching. 

“But it’s so hot..” Fred sighs, dragging out the word. “I was thinking we could stay here and take a dip once everyone’s gone.” He grins, all white teeth. “Unless you’re scared of a little rain.” 

“Isn’t it dangerous to go swimming in the rain?” 

“Who said anything about swimming?” 

The feeling curls up in his stomach again, like Fred had set every part of him on fire. FP reaches out and cranks the shower off, and they stand facing one another on the tile in silence, dripping water onto the floor. Fred smiles smugly and walks back toward the lockers, pushing past him so that their forearms brush, electric, and FP has enough time to think _ tease _ , before Fred’s suddenly pressed up behind him, his wet swimsuit on FP’s ass, his hot, damp chest against his back. FP’s cock stirs in his shorts, standing at attention. 

“I’m a lifeguard,” Fred whispers against his neck. “I’ll keep you safe.” 

Fred’s hands go against his stomach and oh god they’re  _ hot _ , hot like embers at the bottom of a bonfire, damp and warm against the tacky skin of his abdomen. FP bites his lip as they drift lower, tickling the sensitive skin just below his waistband before moving back up to his abs. 

FP sucks in a deep breath, feeling Fred press harder against his back. 

“How long until everyone leaves?”

“Five minutes?” Fred’s hot breath tickles his ear. “We’ll hear the gate close.” 

Thunder rumbles overhead. The small cement room that houses the staff showers seems even hotter than before. FP turns around in Fred’s arms, forcing Fred to break his grip as he brings them face to face. The water is already evaporating off their skin, though Fred’s neck and shoulders are still littered with stray droplets. There’s a puddle in his collarbone. FP wants to bend his head and lick it. 

“So we just stand in here until everyone leaves?” he asks skeptically. The changeroom smells like mildew and piss, and the heat is like an oven. “Not very romantic.”

“I’ll entertain you.” Fred takes the whistle off his neck and loops it gently around FP’s, positioning it in the middle of his friend’s chest and giving it a satisfied pat. Then he’s winding it around his finger, tugging the chain shorter and shorter until a hard yank brings FP’s neck forward almost to his lips. 

“The pool’s outdoors,” FP argues half-heartedly, his heart pounding like a drum. Fred’s brown eyes are very wide and very deep, and he wants to fall into them. “People can see us.” 

“Not if it’s raining hard.” It’s getting there - FP can hear the rain striking the roof, trickling at the open mouth of the changeroom. “And the pool house blocks the deep end from the street.” 

FP decides not to ask why Fred’s so confident about this. He reaches down and cups the back of Fred’s thigh, squeezes the place where his impossibly tiny swimsuit gives way to his skin. He slides his fingers below the hem and moves it upward, exposing a white tan line as stark as a billboard. 

Fred smirks at him, raw meat in front of a shark, knowing damn well how tantalizing he looks. “Like what you see?” 

“I was just thinking I could use some mouth to mouth,” FP murmurs, digging his fingers into the ripe skin of Fred’s ass. “If you’re up for it.” 

“Bronze cross, baby,” Fred brags, sticking his tongue out. “I’m very good with my mouth.” 

The clang of the metal gate announces the pool closing, and Fred hurries to the entrance of the changeroom, peering out through the rain. “Give it another minute for Sierra to drive away,” he calls back. “Then we’re in the clear.” 

FP follows him. “What if I can’t wait another minute?” 

Fred turns, reaching down and cupping FP’s crotch with his hand. “Patience,” he murmurs, cupping FP’s balls through the fabric. “It’s a virtue, FP.” 

FP reaches down and moves Fred’s hand, rubbing him against himself. “Aren’t you the virtuous one today.” 

Fred leans up until his mouth is at FP’s ear. “I wanna fuck you so bad right now,” he whispers, and a thrill runs hot and viscous down FP’s spine. “I want to have you right up against the edge of that pool until you’re begging for it. I wanna bury myself so deep in your ass that you can’t see straight for the next century.” 

He releases him then, walks two steps away and looks back at where FP’s standing, halfway between the locker bays and the tile shower stall. 

“You coming?” 

* * *

They stand at the lip of the turquoise pool in the rain, staring down at the shimmering words at the bottom of the tile - DEEP END. The rain is heavy but oddly gentle, fat soft droplets of hot water. FP blinks them out of his eyelashes and turns to face his friend. 

“Swimsuits off?” FP asks, peeling his secondhand black swim trunks down his legs. He carefully folds up Fred’s whistle and places it on top. 

“Thought you liked me in it,” Fred teases, pulling his swimsuit off without effort and leaping unabashedly into the pool. FP can’t resist a paranoid glance at the street beyond the fence, but it’s deserted. He sits down naked at the edge of the pool, dangling his feet in the water. 

“Come on in,” calls Fred lazily, swimming laps on his back. “The water’s fine.” 

FP holds himself up off the edge and slips neatly down into the pool, feet first. The water is as warm as he’d expected, even in the rain. Fred starts swimming toward him in a lazy breaststroke, his long hair dragging in the water. When he reaches FP he starts treading water in front of him, pinning one hand next to FP’s head against the wall. 

Their lips are very close. “Hello,” FP whispers. 

Fred’s lips crook up into a grin. “Hey.” 

Then he’s kissing him, hands floating around to his back, and FP’s own hands go to Fred’s shoulder blades and grip hard, feeling muscle and bone under the hot skin. The kisses are hot, lazy, Fred’s tongue pushing insistently into FP’s mouth and leaving him with the faint sugary taste of cherry kool-aid. 

FP’s back scrapes the wall as Fred pushes him into the cement, their legs tangling weightlessly under the water. He hooks his legs around the back of Fred’s ass, crossing his ankles, the underwater version of sitting in his lap. Fred deepens the kisses until FP’s fighting for oxygen, and then suddenly pulls back. 

“Wanna see how long I can hold my breath?” He walks his wet fingers up to one of FP’s nipples and gives it a squeeze. 

FP laughs and splashes him. “Fred-” 

Fred dives below the water. FP waits, kicking his legs slightly to stay afloat. Then suddenly the water sliding around his groin is replaced by the hot feeling of Fred’s mouth around his dick. FP chokes, slips under the water, and gets a mouthful of chlorine. Fred’s tongue laps teasingly at the head of his cock, sliding along the tip, and then he’s shooting back up to the surface, grinning as his head breaks the water. 

FP’s speechless. “What the hell was-?” 

Fred interrupts him with a kiss, his hand floating down to grip the shaft of FP’s cock again, and FP finds himself grinning into Fred’s mouth, reaching out with his free hand to stabilize himself on the ladder. His legs are starting to burn from treading water. 

“You’re such an idiot.” 

“Takes one to know one,” Fred replies through kisses, pressing himself ever closer as his hand works FP’s dick. His wet hair is stuck to his cheek, and FP brushes it off before kissing him deeper. The rain dimples the surface of the water, running down their skin as they kiss. 

“You can hold onto me,” Fred murmurs, noticing FP’s ironclad grip on the side of the ladder. “I won’t let you drown.” 

If they weren’t in the pool, FP would have scoffed at Fred offering to hold him up. But in the water he can and he does, keeping them both afloat as FP grips his friend’s warm shoulders and tangles their legs back together. Fred’s hand drifts to FP’s ass, grips the wet skin and spreads his ass cheeks slightly apart. FP sighs in ecstasy, leaning forward to grind himself against Fred’s thigh, and their foreheads bump. 

“Let me know if you want to stop,” Fred murmurs, but stopping is the further thing on FP’s mind. He squirms against Fred’s grip as Fred’s finger traces the curve of his ass, panting in the hot air, and Fred leans in for a kiss that steals all the breath out of his lungs. 

They’re sinking low in the water, the chlorine lapping at FP’s chin, the rain tickling their faces. Fred pushes him back against the rough wall of the pool one last time, nibbling at FP’s earlobe before whispering quietly in his ear: 

“turn around and trust me.” 

FP turns obediently in the water, clutching the side of the pool to keep himself afloat. His hands make wet puddles on the already soaked concrete, the dirty tile gravel-rough and slippery under his hands. One of Fred’s hands lands on top of his, their fingers interlacing and squeezing once. FP sighs happily and presses his ass back against Fred in the water. 

Fred presses up against him for a second time, and FP’s dangling knees shake as Fred’s finger slips inside him. It’s accompanied by a rush of water, odd but not unpleasant. The heat of the day and his own preparations in the shower have loosened him up so that Fred can add a second without effort. 

“You were ready for this.” he says, a grin in his voice, and FP closes his eyes against the feeling of being full, the rain pouring down on his face like heavenly light. 

“Surprised?” he manages. 

“No.” Fred crooks a finger inside him, grazes his prostate, and FP squirms with pleasure. “I know what you like.” 

“Want you to fuck me,” FP mumbles. Fred takes his fingers out of FP’s ass, reaching up to tweak his nipple, and FP moans. 

“C’mere.” Fred’s voice is as gentle as honey as he turns FP around in the water, FP’s hands reaching out for the safety of his damp shoulders again. Fred snakes his thin arms underneath FP’s, supporting them. “Trust me. I’ve got you. I’ve got us.” Fred reaches out and grips the side of the pool, holding them both up, his thighs drawing up so FP can see his skin shimmering just below the water. FP’s back is against the pool wall, already scraped raw, his legs wrapped around the back of Fred’s knees. 

Fred lowers himself in the water and runs his hot mouth along FP’s collarbone, flicking his nipple with his tongue and sucking hard. FP moves himself up and down against the wall, rubbing himself against one of Fred’s thighs, Fred hard against his leg. Fred traps his mouth in another kiss, his free hand massaging FP’s nipple and coaxing a series of desperate whimpers from the back of FP’s throat. 

“God you feel so good,” FP groans, brave enough to slip one hand beneath the water and grip Fred’s cock, smoothing his thumb over the tip. “Fuck, are we really-?” 

“You want to stop now?” 

“Hell no,” FP growls, biting Fred’s lip hard, but not hard enough to hurt. “Hell no.” 

Fred’s finger finds his ass again, circles the hole teasingly and presses in. Then his hands are under FP’s thighs, lifting him weightlessly in the water, and then FP’s lowering himself onto Fred’s cock, moaning into his boyfriend’s mouth. The flood of water is an unfamiliar feeling, but FP likes feeling full. He moans again as Fred thrusts up into him, pressing him hard against the wall. “Good,” Fred murmurs above the rain, a clap of thunder resounding in the purple sky, and FP almost floats away. “You’re doing so good.” 

“Yes,” FP whimpers as Fred starts to fuck him, the water lapping harder and harder at the edges of the pool. His hands are shaking, and his whole body feels limp and loose from being in the water for so long. “Yes, yes, please-” 

“Fuck, you feel so good on me.” Fred keeps moving, murmuring a steady stream of praises into FP’s ear above the rain. “You’re amazing, you know that? You feel so fucking amazing, you’re so good, you’re so fucking handsome-”

“Fuck, Fred, that feels amazing, keep - “

“You’re a champ, baby, fuck, you’re amazing-” 

The pleasure melds into a senseless ecstasy in FP’s head, and he wraps his hand around his cock and jerks himself off as Fred fucks him, overcome by a blur of sensation - the thunder, the rain, the heat, his back against the wall, the way Fred looked, Fred inside of him, the water rushing in and out - 

He bites Fred’s shoulder as he comes, moaning long and loud against his chlorine-soaked skin, almost wailing with the pleasure. One of Fred’s hands reaches up and grabs his hair, tugs lovingly, and then pets him like an animal, smothering him with praise. 

“You’re so good,” he murmurs, kissing FP’s face, his ears, everywhere he can reach, his hips keeping a steady motion beneath the water. “You’re so good, you’re so good baby, you’re doing so good.” His hand finds FP’s, squeezes tight. 

“Come for me,” FP gasps, and Fred thrusts once, twice more before dropping his hand and grabbing the edge of the pool again, leaning into FP as he rides out his orgasm. 

Then they’re bobbing in the water, still clutching one another, chests heaving in sync. A bolt of lightning splits the sky. 

“Imagine if we died here,” FP says, panting. “Lightning strike. Imagine if they found us-”

Fred groans and laughs, so breathless that they’re one in the same. “FP, Please don’t talk about that while I’m inside you.” 

FP pushes off Fred’s lap, too weak to pull himself out of the pool entirely. Fred splashes him playfully, clutching the lip of the pool next to him. 

“Bronze cross,” says FP, drifting in the water, rain running in his eyes from his wet hair. “I get it now.” 

Fred gives him a cheeky grin and hauls himself out of the pool. He could have climbed out using the ladder - it was only inches away - but Fred could never resist showing off. “They don’t let you have it unless you can deal with any kind of situation.” 

“Sounds right,” FP mumbles. Fred stands up, pellets of rain striking the concrete as he bends and retrieves FP’s swimsuit. He dangles it at him. 

“Come on. I’ll give you a ride home.” 

“Did you fix the top on your car?” 

The grin slides off Fred’s face, very slowly, as he realizes the Ford’s getting soaked. “Oh…” 

“Forget it,” says FP, and grins. “We can’t get much wetter than we already are.” 


End file.
